


Eye of the Beholder

by angelskuuipo



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: First Meetings, GFY, Gen, Pre-Series, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelskuuipo/pseuds/angelskuuipo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel was just gathering information on the Slayer and those closest to her before he revealed himself.  Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Velvetwhip (Gabrielle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/gifts).



> Written for the fantabulous Velvetwhip, in honor of her birthday. Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! I hope you have a marvelous day. I wish you all manner of love and happiness, now and always. I wanted to tick off one of the items from your wishlist, which was Angel/Joyce fic. I really hope you like my take on their first meeting. Big thanks to Elisabeth for the beta.
> 
> Written: January 3, 2015
> 
> Word Count: 914

~*~*~*~*~*~

Angel entered the _Summers Gallery_ and looked around with interest. The Slayer’s mother supposedly owned and operated it. He told himself he was gathering information before revealing himself, but really, he was just curious. He hadn’t indulged in his passion for art in a while, so this killed two birds with one stone.

There was an eclectic mix of art throughout the space and he couldn’t discern any pattern in the display. There were modern art pieces mixed in with tribal masks and fetishes; Renaissance-style portraits hung next to abstract paintings. It all seemed rather… tossed together. It was a hodgepodge, but somehow, it worked. There was a cozy feeling to the gallery that made Angel want to find a corner and just bask, maybe even sketch a little.

He came to one particular painting and stopped cold. It was a portrait done in the Impressionist style of a young girl. Her face was obscured by her golden hair, only one blue green eye peeking out between the strands flowing across the canvas. There was so much innocence and love that shone through. It was ethereal and, quite honestly, one of the most beautiful pieces Angel had ever seen.

He was so entranced by the painting that he didn’t hear anyone approaching. He actually jumped when a voice spoke behind him.

“I’m terribly sorry. I was inventorying some new merchandise. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Angel blinked a few times and took a calming, if unnecessary, breath to make sure his face hadn’t shifted before he turned to greet whomever it was that had spoken. He wasn’t prepared for the woman standing there. She looked to be in her late thirties to mid-forties. She had the kind of ageless face that most women would kill for. Her honey-colored hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders and her eyes were a stormy shade of blue-green. In short, she was lovely. If this was Joyce Summers, then Angel could see where the Slayer got her looks.

He finally recovered his manners and gave her a small smile. “No, I haven’t been waiting long. I’ve just been enjoying the gallery. It’s very eclectic. Whoever set it up has created an interesting space.”

The woman looked around, as if trying to see it from an outsider’s point of view, and Angel could see the pride in her eyes. She gave him a self-deprecating grin and leaned in as she confided, “In all honesty, the set up was an accident. My daughters helped me put the pieces out and they neglected to follow the chart I’d made. They looked so proud of themselves after they were done, I didn’t have the heart to change it. After a week or so, I decided I liked it.”

Angel’s smile widened at her candor. “It works. So many galleries are sterile and cold, but this, this is inviting. You’re showing a lot of talent.” He was enjoying the conversation and really wanted to know this woman’s name. He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Angel, by the way.”

The woman blushed as she shook his hand. “Goodness, where are my manners? I’m Joyce Summers, the proprietor. I’m pleased to meet you. Was there anything that caught your eye?”

Angel gestured to the painting that had so captivated him. “I’m particularly interested in this one.”

Joyce looked over his shoulder and her blush deepened. He wondered at that. “Really? Out of everything on display, this is the one you’re drawn to?”

He looked at the painting again, taking in the way the light shone down on the girl, highlighting her hair and the blue of her blouse. It was a deceptively simple painting, but to him, it was almost alive. There was so much _hope_ and _enthusiasm_ in it that he could hardly look away.

He told her as much and she looked at him with an indecipherable expression. “No one has ever seen it that way before. That’s exactly what I was trying to capture when I painted it,” she said softly.

Angel’s eyebrows rose and he smiled. “This is your work?” When Joyce nodded, he said, “Do you have any other pieces? I’d love to see them.” He looked back at the painting. “I want this one, though. Definitely.”

He looked at Joyce again and saw her blinking rapidly. He didn’t say anything; just let her regain her composure. She gave him a watery smile and said, “That can be arranged. I have a few more finished pieces, but they aren’t hung. If you’re sure, I’d be happy to show them to you.”

“I’m very sure. You have amazing talent.” Angel ducked his head and looked at her from under his lashes. “Perhaps you’d be interested in seeing some of my work sometime? It’s just sketches and charcoal portraits, mostly, but I’d like to hear your thoughts. Maybe over dinner?”

Joyce blinked at him, like she couldn’t believe he’d just asked her out. Honestly, Angel couldn’t believe he’d done it either, but Joyce Summers intrigued him and he wanted to know her. He hadn’t felt the desire to know another person for longer than he cared to think about.

The Slayer may have brought him to Sunnydale, but her mother might be what kept him here.

“I, I think I’d like that, Angel. Thank you,” Joyce murmured.

“Excellent.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. Hopefully, this would be the start of something beautiful.

-30-


End file.
